


Rivers of Time

by LadyShigeko



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: M/M, Magic Mumbo Jumbo, Second Chances, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-05-19 19:29:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14879802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShigeko/pseuds/LadyShigeko
Summary: Time and Destiny are a fickle thing.Do you  know the feeling, when you know that you will regret it for the rest of your life if you don't do something.And when you can pinpoint years later the exact moment where you went wrong? If you had just reacted differently you would not be here, but somewhere else. somewhere better!Suche wistful thinking can drive you mad and give you a reason to better yourself. Peter Grant had several of this moments in his life. And as he lay dying in the ruins of the Pergola in Hampstead Heath, he contemplated all this moments. Would he act differently in those moments, if given the chance? hell yes. But those maybes and could have's, should have's are just dust and mist.But there are also those moments where you do the right thing even if it is not easy in that moment.Time and Destiny are fickle lovers, they have their favorites, their champions and they love to meddle.Peter Grant was the first English apprentice wizard in over seventy years. Again.





	1. Epiloge

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Rivers of London Story. It ghosted through my head ever since reading the first book of the series. I will definitely finish this fic. and if it's the last Thing I will do. I also only read it in German, so apologise if i get some words wrong.  
> Disclaimer. I don't own a Thing about the books, sadly.  
> and my english is not the best, not to say its really really bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every two weeks.  
> hopefully...

Inspector Peter Grant 

Apprentice, fellow wizard and mentor, an equal and Nightingale Stirling. Nothing more and nothing less.

He had lived a long, happy and extraordinary life as a wizard of the Folly, also known as police department for weird bollocks. 

He was the first and last apprentice of the last wizard of the Folly, Inspector Thomas Nightingale, THE Nightingale, two Tiger Tanks Nightingale. And later on he was a master of 5 apprentices, which now had all apprentices of there own. 

He was present as the magic came back. As the Folly rose from the ashes of the last century and awoke from the Cinderella sleep that it had fallen into almost 70 years ago. He was there for the Renaissance ( Latin re-nascī; to be born) the rebirth of the Magic in the 21st century. The turn of the Millenia, the 21st century everything did change.

Peter watched colleagues and apprentice come and go, saw his pupils take on pupils of there own. And all passed him by, all things around him changed, grew older. He kindled the flame of magic in them and fuel it, watched them lighten up. They all burned so brightly, the fire consumed them and ate them whole. And his apprentics gave their all for the Folly and they gave and gave till there was nothing to give anymore and the fire within them grew dimmer, till there was nothing left except cindering coals, smoldering in the dark. 

Peter did not stand a change, he had to fall for Nightingale somewhere along the road. The Inspector was the only constant he had, except for Molly and the Rivers. All others passed on like Toby, his parents, Dr. Abdul Walid and Postmarten, Guleed his ninja-hijabi. Some died of old age but most were forcefuly taken before their time. Nothing ever stuck: no loveer, not his colleagues and friends. He was not touched by time, all others were. He stayed, like Molly, like Nightingale of you dismiss his short Benjamin Button stunt. They figured it was the magic in them, that stopped them from aging. 

Every passing month, year, century he fell a little bit more for Thomas. From that faithful day they first met, it was inevitable not to fall for him. You could say it was destiny. 

And now at the end of his life he knew that every step he took, every decision he made, every wrong turn lead him to here, 80 years alongside Nightingale. Years that they spent almost joint together at the hip after the first rocky years. 

They died how they lived, back to back but still worlds apart. Parted form me and yet never parted, never and always touching and touched. In the ruins of the Pergola in Hampstetad head. 

The view civilians were evacuated in time before magical blows got exchanged. The villain of the week got caught and was safe behind magic resistant bars. All magical and non magical colleagues that where caught up in that case survived the incident relatively unscathed. The only collateral damage were the master of the Folly and his right hand man. The Nightingale and his Stirling. They left this life like they lived it, with a boom. Once more they were the heroes of the day. Abigale keeled with a tear stained face next to Peters broken body. "Yes, they are all safe. All pulled through with minor scratches. The worst we got is Nats broken leg", she said with a tremble in her voice. This three sentences appeared to have been an absolution for Nightingale. He moved his head in my general direction and his eyes found mine. I could see it in his eyes, how he finally found peace. With his last breath, all tension left his body. Years ago he told me in privat that he always wanted to go that way. In action. He did not want to go like Abdul or Hugh Oswald or David Mellenby. Old and broken, relying on others and a wheel chair on a everyday basis. Not longer owner of his own body. He wanted to die like a hero, a solder. Like his old friends and collagenes long ago on a battlefield in the far a way and cold German nowhere. In a wood near Ettensberg. A part of him died there with his friends and now the rest of him was gone as well. 

My last thought was of him, the last thing I ever saw was his peaceful face. I thought upon my life. My ups and downs. The people I met along the way, places I've seen. And he was everywhere. I had a good life. 

I never had the courage to confess to him. We had ups and downs during our time together. We came closer, drawn together like magnets and pushed apart like them as well but never for long. In the end it brought us closer to each other. Sometimes I got the impression that this attraction was mutual, that there was more than master and apprentic, colleagues and friends. I never had the guts to tell him.  
Although some times I came pretty close but chickened out the last moment because my courage left me or I was safed by Molly, Abigale or the magical madness of the week. A view times I reinforced myself with an industrial strength drink, to be political correct, but it was either to much and I could not remember a thing in the morning upon waking up in bed, at the sofa in the small library, in the middle of the 3rd floor and on one significant occasion on the seat of the Jaguar. Or it had the opposite effect and with every sip I took I talked myself out of the endeavour. 

While Nightingale drew his last breath, my life flashed through my head. 

My childhood, the day I decided to join the police, the day I hunted that damn ghost and met Nightingale and subsequently got caught up in the demi monde and its strange beings. 

If I ever should get the chance to go back to that moment, I would answer Nightingales searching glance with open want and an invitation. It would be better to have had him once and lose him, than living this wanting half live, always near, never touching. He was in my life, a mentor, a friend my confident. But once, just once I wanted to be selfish and just take. And how often was I so close, because of strange situations the job got us into. Also known as fuck or die situations. But Nightingale always hat a ace up his sleeve and got us out. And the time he was drugged with pheromones he locked himself in his room and I did not see him for the rest of the week. 

Or the time we had to drink ferry whisky, strong stuff. I got to his jacket, then he regained control and stopped me. "Peter, if we should do this, we should do this free of any influences and of our own free will and with a clear mind." We never talked. The next morning was awkward, we avoided each others eyes and company at least for a week. It was a month till we were comfortable with each others company, just the two of us alone in a room together. And don't get me started about this obscure rituals that the Rivers insisted up on every now and then during a blue moon. But Nightingale being Nightingale managed to tweak the situation so that we two did not end together.

Don't get me wrong, I was not that desperate to jump his bones and rape him or such, I just wanted to know once how his body felt alongside mine, what his kissed tasted of. If his hair was so soft as it looked. I spent many a sleepless night thinking about the could have been, if only I had the courage to talk to Thomas. 

But being close to him in whatever way was enough. We were so close our relationship was closer and better than most marriages. We simply matched and were so in tune with each other, that it was enough. 

My thoughts slowed down and got sluggish and muddled what in my experience meant blood loss. I would not recover from that on, I simply knew it. Nightingale was gone and nothing held me anymore. 

I drifted away and let the darkness consume me. 

And then I woke up.


	2. The Lady of the lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for any mistakes regarding the tube. Not sure if someone from London would chose the tube at all, or the Northern Line to go from Tottenham Court Road to Hampstead, or would rather take a cabbie or whatever. It seams logical enough for me and it fits into my plot, to that is that. Furthermore I'm not sure if Peter and his friends would go clubbing in Soho, but as mentioned, it fits to my the story and in Moon over Soho he mentioned that he knew the clubs there.

I woke up surrounded by clover, dandelions, forget me not's and high growing grass. A summer meadow? Is that paradise, I thought dazedly as I watched the sky. Huh, but were are the fast cars, the beautiful blonds and the beer? Or is it literally the garden of Eden? I looked up and watched the sky change colour from dark to pale blue, violet, pale orange, well if you ignore the light pollution. 

What Pollution? That shocked me out of my daze and I sat up abruptly and regretted it instantly. The world around be began to spinn, my heart felt like there were two hamster mating in it, and one of them did not like it.

This could not be paradise. Throwing up I damned my younger self from a the evening for drinking that much. After the contents of my stomachs lay beside me in a puddle I felt better. Don't get me wrong, the feeling of dying because my head seemed to be home to a mining dwarf, scratch that, it seemed to be home of a whole mining trop and I still felt like puking my guts out, but it didn't feel like eminent death was upon me anymore. I was just thirsty, had a craving for a good spicy kebab and a hot shower, but above that I wanted to sleep till I felt better. Not in that specific order, but now.  
This could not death, I felt to shitty for that. 

I looked down on my unblemished hand and halted. There should be a scar form my fist year in Hendon. This incident of which I swore never to speak of included a cocky squirrel, a flying rat aka a dove and Lesley, who I had sworn to secret over a few pints in our favorite pub. Lesley, my heart twinged painfully. 

After a few tries I managed to stand on shaky legs and walked to the nearest exit. Well walking sounded to fast, it was more like crawled like a zombie. 

Slowly it came to me again. Yesterday I received my letter of acceptance in Hendon. I had gone out with friends to celebrate. We were club hopping til around 3, when the last club had thrown us out. One of the boys had magicked up a bottle of vodka, via 24 hour Tesco. We wandered aimlessly through the streets and finally landed at a Tube Station near Covent Garden, Tottenham court road, by then our numbers had decimated to 3. 

My two friends had insisted that if they walked, they would be faster. I studied the time table and my drunken head came tho the conclusion, that if took the tube at 3:52 to Hampstead I would be there in 19 minutes and from there I could walk. In my drunken state distance from Hampstead head to Kentish Town seemed so minimize drastically.  
Yep, I must have bean way more drunken than I thought.  
Anyway, took the first train and landed in Hampstead head where I decided to shortcut the way and walk trough the hill garden. Halfway across the park in the middle of the meadow I realised how tired I was and had sat down and must have fallen asleep but not for long. The sky had by then began to brighten up and you could see dawn approaching. Maybe one hour, two max, later I woke up to puke.  
Anyway, there was this nagging feeling of deja vu, as I stumbled my way home. After a hot shower, almost a whole liter of water I fell face first into my bed and sleeped like the dead. 

Upon waking I realised how thirsty I was and grabbed for the water bottle. Yuck, lukewarm. A quick glance out of the window showed me that it was getting dark again. 

I dragged myself out of bed and grabbed a rumpled but hopefully clean shirt from the floor and headed for the kitchen in search of water and food. As I sat there in the tiny kitchen and waited for the kettle turn off, snippets of the strange dream from last night kept racing trough my head. It was not really clear but I think there was a woman in it. The longer I tried to focus on her, the clearer her image got inside my head. She had long flowing hair and a seemingly ageless but kind face, like a mother. She seemed to hover upon the water in the almost translucence mist that danced across the surface of the lake. Her robes schimmernd and seemed out of a material not from this worlds, like pure magic woven into a fabric. I remembered her face, the lady of the lake. 

The kettle switched off and I poured the water into the mug. Golden brown clouds rouse out of the tea bag, golden like the water of the puddle I felt into, while chasing after the headhunter that the circle of evil druids near Glastonbury had sent after the dryad and nature spirits. That's why I chased trough the wilds of Somerset, like I did a view year ago in Herefordshire, only that this time no unicorn was chasing me, but I was chasing a goblin head hunter. Crushing trough trees and bushes without seeing where I was going, just following the path the goblin before me created, I suddenly found myself in a clearing before a lake. The sand under my feet was golden brown and the water was crystal clearer; the place emitted a magical feeling. Sacred. From the waterfall in the back steam or mist was rising that covered part of the lakes surface. Well and there was a sword laying in the lake. 

Alarm bells started ringing in my head but time was running short. The head hunter was suddenly behind me, blindly I grabbed the sword and beheaded him.  
Morbidly I thought the headless headhunter...  
After the sudden Adrenalin rush left me, I sank down on my knees and took a deep breath. It was when I noticed the strange energy flowing trough my body, starting from were my fingers gripped the sword handle. 

Then the lady of the lake arose from the water and thanked me for destroying the goblin and saving the dryads which were under her protection.  
I said it was my job.  
She offered to gift me the sword.  
I said I was not worthy and she should keep it till someone came along that were worthy. Then I placed the sword back into the water.  
She tanked me again and said, if I had a wish, she would fulfill it.  
At this point I just wanted something to eat, a beer, ah hot shower and a bed; in that order, preferably, but I could get that just fine myself. So I refused again.  
She then offered me a boon, if ever I needed her, I should say her name and she would answer my call. After thanking her I left. 

The dryad were happy, I was happy, all were happy, well beside the druids but after a long talk they saw reason and a agreement with the dryads was made. Finally I could return to the Folly and more importantly, by bed. Nightingale listend to my tale and confirmed what I had guessed. The woman that I had met by the lake, was THE woman of the lake, Nimue and the sword Excalibur.  
Funny, in every myth or legend was indeed a bit of truth. I wrote the details of the case down for the archives and then again in more details for our privat archives aka the uncensored version. The next day my thoughts about the last weeks strange happenings were blown away, literally. Exploding flower bouquets. A murderess Poison Ivy copy cat terrorised Bromly.  
I never came around to collect my boon, thinking of it. 

And then I remember dying in a pool of my own blood in the Pavillon of the Hill garden in Hampstead head. What was my last thought? If I could turn back time and rewrite my story....  
Yeah then there had been darkness and then I could make out a lake, covered in fog, the lady hovering above the lake. Nimue. 

She smiled and looked at me. "Peter my champion, you have helped me once and did not want a reward. I gave you a boon, that you never used, so let me give you this gift. Your hearts desire. I turn back the rivers of time for you. I command your river to flow backwards and bring you to a point where you had the chance to change your fate. You will not outrun destiny, let that be said but you fate lies in your own hands. I will give you the opportunity but what you do with this it is your own decision. But beware some thinks are meant to happen, they happen for a reason. The end will be the same, but the journey there will be a different one."

"But, wh...", I started to say. 

"Worry not, time is floating like a river, you may tame it for a while but not contain it for long, it will find its way. You can change what you want, if it is meant to change, it will but if not, nothing will change, the how will change, but not the result. Things may change for better or worse depends on how you look at it, but they will happen regardless. And Peter, a last suggestion from myself, if you decide to not change a thing, because the end result could be far worse, ask yourself if the unknown outcome of a situation can be worse than what already happend. Is the unknown evil worse than the known evil?"  
And with her parting advice the lake and all thinks around me began to fade till darkness surrounded me again. Birdsong and the need to empty my stomach woke me up. 

Huh, time travel, I thought while sipping my tea. Time travel I thought and spat my mouthful of tea across the kitchen table.  
This could mean that I got the change to meat Nightingale early, that all bad things, Mr Punch, Lesley, the faceless wizard all that shit could be prevented, we could be prepared. We could be more than the last wizard his apprentice, by the time the stone begann to roll and magic emerged again.  
Would mean we would not be over worked. We could be a 3, or 4 wizards. Because I was my mothers son I cleaned the mess of my spilled tea and gleefully begann to plot how to causally meet Nightingale early, for purely academic reasons, not to hook up with him. But, you know I would not terribly sad if that happend.


	3. 02 how to catch a nightingale

I had two weeks of freedom the other after a before I would be locked away in Hendon for an undefined amount of time. Sadly, they did not trust us new recruits in the first few months to let us have contact with unsuspecting civilians (I wonder why) 

It's not like in the Police Academy movies, there are no such people like Mahoney and Tackleberry (or Karen Thompson) ok some are strange, but... ok, we need training and theory before we could be let loose on the civilian population. 

That means I had to prepare myself for days, months of boredom, because here we go again. 

The only good thing would be that I'd ace all classes, hopefully. I'm sure that my grades would improve drastically compared to last time. Was that cheating? Nope.  
Hopefully this time around I would not end up getting a position with the paper pushers aka the case progressing unit. 

I just had to play it so, that I was good, but not so good that they would get jealous and get harassed by the others. There is the fine line between the know it all that no-one liked because he was a teachers pet and the one everybody, well mostly everybody liked with good grades non the less. Like Lesley, everybody had liked here and she was one of the best of our year.  
So between thinking about how to wing that, I carefully planned how to approach Nightingale the best and most successful way. I

I always got a clear head while walking Toby, so I took a walk around the block that turned into a halve hour walk that ended near Lancester Square.  
After a while of aimlessly walked the streets in a fast pace, I had calmed down enough to assess my situation, the pros and cons of certain actions and all possible outcomes.  
My racing though slowed down long enough for my restless mind to settle and the world was ok-ish now.  
I had all the cards, all answers, for now but that would change soon enough when I decided to stepp in and start changing things.  
Slowly one of my infamous plans started to form regarding Nightingale. 

But story of my life: what you wish, what you plan is not what actually happens. 

Like always my best laid plans evaporated with contact of reality. Life is what happens while waiting for your dreams. 

I didn't pay attention to my surroundings and crashed into a person and was now face to face with the reason of my sleepless nights, none other than Thomas Nightingale. 

We simultaneity started to apologise. 

Casually he introduced himself and being the perfect Edwardian gentleman, invited me to a pint to apologise for having run me over.  
Was he just polite or was there more? A small part of me wanted him to invite me, because he found me attractive. On the other hand, he did not randomly invite strangers which he had run over in the street. So maybe... 

While I thanked all my lucky stars and all that is Holy, Nightingale guided me to our favourite pub where you could also eat pretty decently. (And it was in walking distance to the Folly, big plus if you wanted to escape Molly's cooking.)

Meanwhile it seemed like my voice was still in reboot mode after crashing into Nightingale. He was silent as well, but that was nothing new, the silence a familiar companion of ours over the years. We had talked about this once, while trapped in a haunted house for the night and agreed that the comfort we found in each others silent company was mutual. Within the first week of my apprenticeship we had found a rhythm, we just clicked. And now I had this familiar feeling again and the look on his face and his body language confirmed that it was mutual. 

After we got our drinks we sat near the back on a table across from each other. 

Embarrassing silence, that was only broken as I suddenly started to giggle and could not stop till my giggle grew to a full grow laugh. This whole situation was just too crazy. Nightingale looked at me with mirth dancing in his eyes and an almost smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, till he was laughing as well. 

 

The other patron's threw annoyed glances at us, but that made us only laugh harder. 

After we got ourselves back under control, I reached for may glass and took a big gulp to calm my nerves. Shyly I glanced at him across the rim of the glass, he watched me back. 

Now that the ice was broken we had a nice conversation about pubs and the current rugby season. All in all a really manly talk with fluttering eyes and shy smiles and daring glances. We slowly worked our way to something more. It was a dance to gauge the reaction of the other. 

We were on the second round of beer, when I decided that it was time for my famous act-on-instinct-and-think-later moves. So I looked in his blue eyes. He returned my blatant stare with a intense stare of his own. With the power of my mind, I tried to telegraph to him my feelings, my want for him, my need for him and so many other thinks I could not describe nor begin to understand.

He had the same look on his face that he would sometimes get; I never knew what it meant, could only guess. I'd like to think he watched me tenderly, but measuring, calculating. 

So gathering all my courage, my hand reached slowly across the table, so that he could read my intentions and had time to react till my hand covered his. 

Suddenly the room was too hot for me. 

He looked down on my hand and his eyes found mine. 

And it grew even hotter, as he turned his hand and interlaced our fingers, not breaking eye contact. He smiled at me, cockily. 

Sparked raced trough my body at the point where our hands touched. I got the feeling he felt the same. 

It was the same magic, magnetism or whatever you want to call it, that drew me to him in the first place. And now, without the shadow of him being my boss and the friendship that developed during my apprenticeship, the friendship that was to important for both of us to mess up with a relationship afterwards, he reacted to my shy advances. Normally he would have ignored it, but without the construction of our society and us being complete strangers, he seamed to allow himself this. My old Nightingale... Well let's not think about him. If wishes were horses... Or how did this saying go? 

Anyway, he had this glint in his eye, the one that screamed that he knew exactly what he was doing to me. I gulped down the reminder of my pint to sooth my suddenly dry throat. 

He stood up and left the pup, leading me with confidence in his steps, our hands were still interlaced. 

Nightingale lead me into St. James Square to a group of old oak tree's. 

In the dim light he looked even more handsome than before. We stood there for a little while, just gazing into each others eyes. The tension between us grew, till it was almost tangible. 

Softly our lips were touching, just a soft touch of lips. 

Sparks emitted from where he touched me, almost burning me. Tenderly my hands cupped his cheeks and we were kissing again. 

Like a switch were flipped I could not hold myself back anymore, my tongue slipped into his mouth as I pushed him against a tree trunk and hungrily ravished his mouth. 

The spell was broken and my hands searched for a way through his many layers till they finally reached skin. My mouth had found his neck by then and one of my legs was pushed between his. I could feel his excitement pulsing hot against my tight, as surly as he could feel my answering hardness against his hip. His hands caressed my body restlessly, till one landed on a hip the other on my ass. After his hands had found their place and had a good grip, he pushed our pelvises together and supported my helpless rutting against him. 

My head rested on one of his shoulders, face pressed into his neck were I left sloppy hickeys and presst open mouthed kisses, but after a while I was so worked up that all I could do was breath against his neck and moan. He wasn't fairing any better with his head skywards, closed eyes and open mouth. His breath as laboured as mine, moaning shamelessly and the occasional needy high pitched whine. 

Anybody walking by could find us. We didn't care. Our world had narrowed down to just the two of us, hot body's pressed against each other chasing release. I didn't know what sounds I was making, barely hearing Thomas moans above my blood coursing trough my ears. 

It soon grew too much and I came embarrassing fast just from our helpless rutting like horny teenagers against each other. In my euphoric high and the haze that followed my mind blowing orgasm, I barely registering that he followed me fast behind. 

Panting against each others necks, we slowly regained our senses. Tender kisses were exchanged; hands shooting and smoothing out wrinkles of each other's clothes. 

In this moment I realised how wrong I had been. My believe was, that if I ever get the chance to get a tast of him, it would be enough.  
Well delusion my friend, goodbye, I was hooked now. 

We parted reluctantly and slowly walked to a crossroad. Instinctively we knew, that we would part ways here. A last glance, a last kiss and I turned away. My hand held his till the stretch of my arm hurt to much and I had to let go.  
A last glance behind me showed, that he still stood there under the lamp post and watched me slowly get swallowed by the darkness. 

How I got home that night, will remain a mystery. 

In the shower the excitement of the past days suddenly caught up with me. This madness of the crazy wizard that blew up the pavilion, dying and waking up with this incredible chance to redeem myself and make it better and last but not least screwing around with Nightingale in the park. Suddenly it was too much.  
All my build up emotions came crashing down on me.  
They poured down on me like the hot water and washed my pleasure, the sin and my hot tears that suddenly ran down my cheeks away.  
I'd lost all chances of him ever taking me seriously. Congratulations Peter. 

You messed up the first impression he got from you. Now he thinks you are one of those that easily spread their legs for anyone that looks at them the right way. Frustrated my fist punched the tiles and I lost the strength that kept me standing and I sank down on my knees.

I didn't know when the water went cold, only came partly to my senses again, when my mother knocked against the door. She hollered at me, if I wanted to drown herself. Mechanically I stood up and cleared the foggy mirror with my hand. The Peter that looked back at me didn't look good with his red rimmed eyes and he was pale, much too pale. Like I died and woke up in the past with the mother of all Hangovers; oops that's what happened. Oh and did I mention that I made out with my future boss like a teenager in the park?

After rubbing myself dry, I wrapped the towel across my hips and left the bath. My mum stood in the hallway but had the food grace to not say a word after she caught a glance of me.  
Emotionally I was empty; tired. Before I fully came to rest on my pillow I was asleep. Just the towel around my hips and face first in the pillows. I did not even have the strength to cover me with my blanket. 

And for the first time in ages l slept without waking restlessly halfway through the night. I asleep soundly without nightmares.


	4. How to catch a Nightingale

The next morning I woke up because someone had cooked breakfast. 

Halve asleep and blind I stumbled into the kitchen, grabbed a plate and a cup of tea and started eating. After a time I realised how hungry I actually was. When was the last time he had eaten anything? I couldn't remember. Slowly I felt better, almost human again.

My father sat silently beside me and my mother was doing the dishes. She was talking about the daughter of a cousin that had married recently and was now expecteing twins. It was domestic. The same old: Peter you have to marry a nice girl and give me grandchildren. By this point I had heard this at least a hundred times just with different words but the message remained the same.  
Last time, in the future, or was it the past? Mother had given up after I broke up with Beverly and simply adopted any new apprentice of ours that crossed the threshold of the Folly and stayed longer than a month.

In the light of day all looked better. Really, Nightingale will probably not remember me after two years at Hendon and another two years of probation as a copper in the streets.  
Our tumble in the dark will only be a distant memory by then. A memory about a slightly younger ethnic looking guy that had filled his need in the dark park. Talking about cliche. And my memory will be faded by then as well (Bullshit if ever I heard any. Every single moment with him, every touch of his will be forever lasert into my brain.)  
I was confident, that I could look him in the eye without blushing or behaving otherwise embarrassingly. We would have a totally professional working relationship. And that was it. 

 

The next one and a halve week were spent with packing my stuff and getting my affairs in order. Oh and getting dragged by my mother to every family and friends of her that had a single daughter in my age range, matchmaking housewives, my worst nightmares are coming true. 

One Friday I was more confident than ever that all would be well, because I had made plans and contingency plans from A to Z . 

I enjoyed the warm evening breeze in Covent Garden, while aimlessly walking to St. Pauls Cathedral.  
My gaze glanced over the cobble stone and landed on a pair of handmade high polished shoes, that belongs to tailor made light grey trousers and a sharply tailored suite. Why does that seam familiar? Oh yes, Covent Garden and ghost hunting... Nightingale stood not even a meter before me in all his Edwardian glory. 

Fascinated I watched as a pink flush spread across his face.  
One part of me wanted to see how deep that flush reached but the other part wanted to run as fast as I could and hide away forever, but my feet betrayed me they seemed to be bolted to the floor. Realising that I was staring at him, I cleared my throat. 

We started to speak at the same time and stopped the same moment as well. I signalled him to speak first.  
"Normally I do not to this", he started. 

Awkward silence. 

Slowly I realised that this whole counter was embarrassing to him as well. 

It was then, that I realised we were still standing in the middle of the piazza, so I lead the way to St. James Street. 

How strange I always thought that Nightingale was always in control and nothing could bother him and throw him of balance. 

 

Don't ask me how this happend, but one thing lead to another and somehow we landed in this motel together, ravishing each other like we were possessed and the other the salvation. Sucking his tongue like I was drowning and he was my air. 

It was wet and slick, bodies sliding across each other till it was my fingers inside of him and he made such pretty noises. But they were nothing compared to those he made as I finally entered him. 

He was so overwhelming tight and hot. I had to control myself not to scream and bit down at his shoulder. God I hoped I would not come early.

After I was fully settled in him, I tried not to hammer away, but ultimately fell victim to Thomas spell. The high pitched noises and whines was all the encouragement I needed. 

I tried to keep quiet, no such restrain at his part.

With a passion I did not know he possessed, be bucked into me, his legs held my hips like a iron cage and his hands grabbed helplessly at my back.

Never in all my time with him had I seen him so undone, so without restraint, so beautiful.

After, we feel into a easy slumber. Slowly I woke up and watched his peaceful face in sleep he seemed younger and more free that I had ever seen him before. He driftet to wakefulness, tighten in anticipation as he sensed another person next to him but an instant later he relaxed again after realising it was me. At least that's what I thoughts. Maybe he remembered the fantastic shag we had, I thought smugly.  
His eyelashes fluttered and I drowned in ocean of grey blue eyes.  
I was surprised how not awkward this whole thing was. We lounged in bed together for a while and slowly explored the planes of each others body again that we claimed in rushed passion a mere hour ago.  
Together we showered and dressed; I was faster with my jeans and shirt and lounged on the bed that still smelled of our love making and lazily watched him transform into Thomas Nightingale, proper gentleman.  
Tantalised I watched him putting an layer after layer, but even him putting on a shirt was dam sexy and I had to get a grip on myself to not tear his clothes off again and start another round . Looking at him in his smartly tailored suit you would not believe what he had done not halve an hour ago. Nothing betrayed the wild creature that was hiding underneath his three peace suite. Well opposite to myself that is, just one look and everybody knew what I had been up to.  
And the smug Nightingale knew exactly what he was doing to myself, slowly and sensually dressing like that. The glint in his eyes betrayed him. 

There was a small struggle at the check out, who would pay the bill, he won by using his Peter-do-what-I-say-look. My mother had a similar one, that's how she roped me into grocery shopping for her and carting her and her friends around town for different occasions. 

 

We went to our favourite pub and had a nice meal with be ravished after the exercise of the past hours, my treat this time. (Eat this two tiger tank Thomas!)

We talked about everything and nothing, there wes a rugby match on and after so many years by his side, I pickt up the rules and somewhat enjoy watching the game, especially with Thomas beside me. Well Most of the time I was watching him, watch the rugby match but whatever. 

Our ways parted almost in front of the Folly, ironically the same crossroad as last time. This time it was myself that stood at the crossing and watch Nightingale disappear in the darkness. It was not awkward, but wonderful. This time we knew that we would meet up again somewhere, somewhere and it would be good. 

As we walked trough St James Park I told him that I would be busy in the next view months, because a new part of my life would begin soon that would eat up all my time.  
In turn he told me, that he would also not be available in the near future as well, because he would travel and meet old friends (aka tour across the country and check up on his old war buddies to see, if they were still alive and kicking and were not creating trouble. )

Future here I come.


	5. The time between

For the next few years Nightingale and me hooked up from time to time, nothing serious; sometimes every week, sometimes every other month. 

In the following weeks and months I spend skipping through courses at Hendon with Lesley at my side. In some courses it was a tie between the two of us at the top of the class, sometimes my old enemy cough up with me, my wandering thoughts. 

It was a old problem of mine that I got easily distracted. Sue me for wanting to know what materials made the bullet prove Wests of the Met bullet prove or what is written on the lions bum o some courses I passed with flying colours and some courses I passed with the same grade like last time. 

When my two year probation at Westminster started, I had absolved the safe driving course and were taking Latin courses in the evening.  
During my probation period at the nick almost all thinks happend again like last time. Just some thinks had a better outcome. 

So it came that at one thirty at a cold Tuesday in January Martin Turner tripped over the headless body of poor Mr. William Skirmish and started the events that lead to the descent of the whole pomp and majesty that is the metropolitan police murder investigation on the scene. After the forensic team showed, they declared that they needed more bodies, so the responsible DI called Charing Cross nick to ask, if they had any bodies to spare. The shift Commander upon hearing the magic word "overtime", marched into the section house and volontierend everyone out of their nice and warm bed. 

This lead to me standing at Covent Garden in a freezing wind at 5 o'clock in the morning and it was me, that met the ghost. 

Here we go again, Peter, don't mess up, I thought as is took cover at St. James Church. And promptly read the information plaque attached to the church. (Yes, here we go again Peter. <)

Now was the moment of truth, if the careful planning of the last months would came to fruit or not.  
Till now, all went as planned. Taking a deep breath I steeled myself. 

And so it came that it was me, again, that met the ghost.


	6. The Ghost

I could not sleep that night. I lay awake and waited for the shift commander to volunteer me out of my nice warm bed to guard the crime scene. 

The light painted ever changing pattern on my ceiling which I watched with unseeing eyes like I was in a daze I. My thoughts were swirling like the shadow's  
that danced above my head.  
Should I have eaten that Kebab today? What was Toby Winter in Germany doing right now? Did poor Mr. Skirmish get his head knocked of right now?  
I woke from my stupor as the shift commander barked his order to get our skinny assess up and moving. 

With a gasp I sat up, as my thoughts came to a screening halt. Suddenly it was clear what I had to do.  
The path that was before me was crystal clear, whereas since the moment that I had woken up in the grass the path, that was my future were hidden in heavy fog, where it was unclear what was up and down, if I was moving forwards or backwards and was I even on the right track and on the way at all of was I treading trough muddy water?

But now I moved with propose as I laced up my boots, my doubts blown away with the sudden avalanche of noise that was produced by all those poore sods like me, which woke up and prepared themselves for a freezing and windy night to guard a crime scene, because the higher ups said so. 

The nervous energy that had filled me since new years eve began to act up again on the way to St. Paul's Church.  
Ok, deep breath, Peter, I told myself. Let the play begin! 

 

The sounds of the city quieted around the Piazza, the lights dimmed, you could feel that the lifting of the red curtain was only one breath away.  
The atmosphere was similar to the one one would find in a theater or the royal opera house, before the big premiere of a famous play.  
A loved, old story that everyone know but was excited none the less to see. How would the stage design look? The clothes that the actors wore?

During on of my visits to Germany, Toby White and I had threaded ourselves to a visit to Bayreuth and Toby somehow magicked us to the opening premiere of the Bayreuth Festival with "Lohengrin" in 2018. The stage design was by the famous Neo Rauch, the chief conductor was Christian Thielemann and responsible for the new staging of the opera was Yuval Sharon.  
The Rain Maids, especially Moselle were all terribly fond of good old Richard Wagner and had seemingly connections to everything Wagner and of course Bayreuth, the place for Wagner fans. And Moselle owned Toby a favor, a big one. 

And so it came that Toby and I sat next to each other on a fine summer day, the 25th July 2018, with cozy 30 degree in the shadow, on crappy wooden chairs in the famous opera house upon the "Grünen Hügel" (green hill) in Bayreuth, around us the famous and rich, the high society, the creme de la creme of Germany and Europa.

\----- 

In early February 2018 Toby had written me, that he had cards for the opening premiere of Lohengrin, because Moselle owned him a favour.  
Thoughtless I had mentioned it to Nightingale in passing.  
His eyes had suddenly a queer light glimmering in them as he lead me to one of the unused roomers, that I never bothered to check. 

There he showed me an old Gramophone and honest to good original shellac-records of Wagner.

First he made me listen to the Tetralogie of "Der Ring der Nieblungen" (Ring of the Nibelung). First "Das Rheingold", then "Die Walküre", "Siegfried" and "Götterdämmerung". And the more I listened, the more I realized that J. R. R. Tolkin had listened to this music as well, because the story of this magic ring, the dragon, the gold seemed strangely familiar to me.  
Nightingale told me the plot and I looked up later but the story that Richard Wagner invented goes like this: 

King Henry the Fowler arrived in Brabant and has assembled the German tribes to expel the maraudering Hungarians from his dominions and to settle a dispute.  
During that time the Duke of Brabant has died and left behind his daughter Elsa and her junger brother, the child-Duke Gottfried of Brabant. He had given them into the care of Telramund.  
Elsa and her brother had taken a walk in the forest, but Elsa had lost her brother. As she left the forest without him, Telramund accused her of murdering him.  
Friedrich von Telramund wanted to become Duke of Brabant himself. So he called upon the King to punish Elsa.  
The king calls for Elsa to answer the accusation, but she only laments her brothers fate. The King declares that he cannot resolve the issue and defers it to God's judgement through ordeal by combat. Telramund agrees.  
Elsa describes as her champion the knight she has beheld in her dreams. A boat drawn by a swan appears on the river and in it stands a knight in shining armor. The knight asks Elsa, if she will have him as her champion and marry him and only asks one thing in return, to never ask him his name or were he came from, Elsa agrees.  
Telramund and the unknown knight fight. The knight wins and "proves" Elsas innocence.  
Telramund and Ortrud, his wife are banished. Ortrud revealed that she is a pagan witch and tries to revive Telramund's courage and plots her revenge.  
She tries to poison Elsa against the knight. Elsa struggles but stays faithful and true.  
Meanwhile the King has outlawed Telramund and offered the unnamed knight to be made Duke of Brabant, however the Knight has declined and wants to be referred to as "Protector of Brabant".  
Elsa and Lohengrin marry, Telramund challenges Lohengrin again, pleading that his defeat in combat was invalid because the Knight did not give his name, then he accuses the Knight of sorcery.  
The knight states that only Elsa may ask the question. Elsa herself seems visibly shaken but staid strong and true.  
The King refuses Telramund and the wedding proceeds.  
After the wedding they are finally alone. Ortrud's words however are impressed upon Elsa and she asks the fatal question. Before the knight can answer, Telramund and his four recruits rush into the room and attack. The knight defeats Telramund and kills him, then he sorrowfully turns to Elsa and tells her to follow him to the king, because now he will reveal himself.  
Telramund's corpse is brought, Elsa comes forward followed by the Knight. He tells the King that Elsa broke her promise and discloses his identity by telling the story of the Holy Grail and reveals himself as Lohengrin, Ritter des Heiligen Grals (Knight of the Holy Grail) and son of King Parsifal sent to protect Elsa. The rules of the Holy Grail determine, that he has to remain antonym or he has to return.  
Sadly he bids his beloved bride farewell and the swan reappears. He tells Elsa, that if she had maintained the oath, she would have recovered the lost brother. He gives her his sword, horn and ring, so her brother may become the future leader of Brabant. As Lohengrin tries to get in the boat, Ortrud appears and tells Elsa, that the swan is actually Gottfried, the lost brother and that she, Ortrud had transformed him into a swan. The people consider Ortrud guilty of witchcraft.  
Lohengrin prays, the swan transforms again into young Gottfried and he elects him as Duke of Brabant.  
Ortrud sinks as she sees Gottfried and her plans thwarted.  
A dove descends from heaven and, taking the place of the swan at the head of the boat, leads Lohengrin to the castle of the Heiliger Gral (Holy Grail).  
Elsa is stricken with grief and falls to the ground dead.

As Nightingale told me this story, Wagners music played in the background and Thomas had a soft lock in his eyes. 

 

We spent many joyful noon's there and listened to old music, enjoying tea or of the occasion aroused, stronger liqueurs and talked about everything and nothing.

 

As I was waiting for Lesley to go and my ghost to appear, I felt brought back to then, when I sat with Toby next to me and suddenly, without a signal the conversation around us died down and then the lights dimmed. The audience seemed to gather one collective breath and then the curtain was lifted. And the stage was... 

Blue!? 

That evening I learned, that if you slightly change the angle at which you look at things, everything changes and gets a new meaning. Elsa suddenly was a independent woman, caged in society and her role as a noblewoman but she mad the best out of her situation, she was clever and know how to play her cards.  
I of course know, how to change my angle of looking at crimes and people and had done in countless times to catch the meanie of the week or the badass of the month.  
But this, this, now was on a totally different level.  
I thoughts i knew the story. The whys, the hows and still…  
Thielemann took the play and managed to convey a different meaning than all the other countless before him did not manage to do.  
The script was the same, the text and music stayed the same. He changed the costumes, he brought the play into the present but the rest stayed the same, nothing that those before him had not done so as well. but still....  
Where as before it was about Elsa, being the silly girl that betrayed Lohengrins and the witch Ortrud, the brave Telramund now this showed us a different Elsa.  
This romantic opera had suddenly a bitter sweet happy ending. Elsa was free. 

\-----

So here I was, before the actors church freezing my balls of. 

My radio cracked, the curtain had lifted. "Want some tea", asked Lesley.

She left the stage. Somewhere in the distance a car honked.

Mr Punch aka the ghost appeared on stage and mad his entrance. Now that I actually looked, I saw the image of him slowly appearing and he became solid, or as solid as ghosts do get.

It went without a hitch. The conversation played 1 one 1 like the first time. Not to brag, but I played my role flawless. All my nerves were forgotten.  
As Lesley finally returned she seemed like a Valkyrie of old, bringing nectar and ambrose or the draugth of the gods in cheap paper cups.  
I greeted her with a revealed and free laugh, thanking her for the hot black liquid gold. She looked at me strangely, as if I finally cracked and went bonkers.  
Which made me only laugh more and thank her again for the Tea.  
She rolled her eyes and went away to her corner of the piazza.


End file.
